


Boy Band Factory

by jericho



Category: Backstreet Boys
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-08
Updated: 2012-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-07 06:39:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/428045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jericho/pseuds/jericho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The end of the Backstreet Boys, and the beginning of learning how to deal with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boy Band Factory

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in 2000. It predicted the demise of Backstreet Boys, which obviously not has not materialized this way.

AJ remembered the first time he met Howie, at a talent show in Orlando. AJ, for the brief time he'd been in high school, had been a drama kid. He looked different and acted different and he had his own brand of funky fashion sense. Most of the kids into drama were like him - they all had something physical about them that set them apart. But Howie was more the clean cut type, the sort who was into drama but without the cornrows or the hair dye. A professional outlook from day one. The guy everyone thought was gay and who all the girls had a crush on. 

Orlando was a breeding ground for Howies. A boy band factory. And here was this boy, ripe for the picking and not even knowing it. 

Boy band factory. As if they'd been plucked from trees like oranges, or manufactured on an assembly line. Legs going down the conveyor belt. Add a lean torso, well-sculpted chest, modified face. Package in Abercrombie and ship like a Microsoft product. 

Factory. Did that mean AJ was a product? Then he realized that _of course_ he was. They all were. They were Big Macs and Pokemon games. They were trading cards. "I'll trade you two of my Howies for your Nick." As if they had no history. No lives. No family. 

Somewhere along the line, they'd managed to convince themselves that it was no longer true. That they'd broken the mold and surpassed that. And now, despite all their achievements, it was rushing back to haunt them. Ten years of lies. 

*** 

When the sales of the fourth album failed to crack the million mark after three weeks on the charts, everyone changed. 

Brian phoned Leighanne more, sitting in the corner of the bus crouched over the phone, speaking in hushed tones. Kevin fawned over everyone, reminding them to brush their teeth before they went to sleep and to eat more of the fruit they kept in the bottom of the bus mini-fridge. Nick grew increasingly agitated, barking at anyone who had the guts to speak to him. And they all started riding the same bus during the day, stopping to put half of them on the other bus only when it was time to go to sleep. 

AJ sat and watched it all go down, resting his arms on the table, smoking calmly even though he wasn't supposed to smoke on the bus. He watched Kevin across from him, looking through a catalogue for portable keyboards to order. "You okay, AJ?" Kevin asked, looking up and furrowing his brow. 

"Yes, Kevin. I'm still okay." AJ gave an exaggerated toothy grin and took another drag. 

"Five minutes before we get to the hotel, guys," Kevin called. "Make sure your stuff's together." 

"Fuck off," Nick called from the back. 

Howie came out from the hall in a black T-shirt with the word "Bottom" written on the front, inching toward the door. 

Kevin's head whipped around. "Get that off. You can't wear that out." 

"I'm not," Howie said, but he was already holding his suitcase. 

"Get that off!" Kevin repeated. 

Howie rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Kevin. Like any of the teenage girls are going to know what it means anyway." 

"It doesn't matter. The media will. Go change." 

Howie gave an exaggerated sigh and disappeared down the hall. 

Kevin gave AJ a "can you believe that" look. "When did he get so gay?" 

"I dunno." AJ extinguished his cigarette and got up. "I'm gonna go get my stuff." 

"Good boy, AJ. You're the only good boy left." 

AJ smiled sweetly and headed down the hall. 

***

Nick had always had moments where he was hard to get along with, but walking into the hotel, Kevin said "Watch out, Nick" when the heavy door swung back toward him, and Nick scowled. Kevin had always been a little doting, but the way he was acting recently, it was as if he expected everyone to die if he took his eyes off them. Brian, who used to be the goofiest of all of them, coming up with pranks like putting toothpaste in Kevin's hair when Kevin was sleeping, retreated to his room with his cell phone. AJ didn't need tons of introspection to know that he hadn't always polished off a mickey of whisky a day. And Howie was...well, Howie was gay. The guy who used to be quiet and humble and self reflective, who wanted to be everyone's shoulder to cry on and who was the most worried about everything being absolutely perfect, was a few one night stands away from being a Priscilla: Queen of the Desert character. 

There were only a handful of girls waiting for them, so few that by the time the Backstreet Boys headed to the elevators, every fan had gotten an autograph and a personal greeting. 

They rode the elevator in silence, Brian and Nick slumped in opposite corners and Howie watching the numbers climb. AJ watched Howie, not worrying whether or not he was being obvious about it. Everyone had been watching Howie lately. Sometime between the release of "Millennium" and present day, Howie had changed. All of the baby fat around his cheeks finally melted away, leaving a glacier of sharp cheekbones and jaw line. All of his features got more pronounced, but his eyes stayed the same, making them look big and round amongst the rest of the things on his face. It was like an ugly duckling turning into a swan, although Howie had never really been ugly. He had just grown from this little half-Irish, half-Puerto Rican kid with a goofy grin into some kind of androgynous creature with soft hair and "fuck me" eyes. 

Howie noticed AJ watching and smiled. The same calm, trustworthy smile he'd always had, ever since AJ saw him weaving his little body through the crowd at an Orlando talent show. 

"Hello, sir," AJ said. They'd been calling each other "sir" for years. 

"Howzit going?" Howie smiled a little, then stared back up at the numbers and sighed. "Nick, you want to go out after the show tonight?" 

Nick snorted. "With you? I can just imagine where you'd want to take me." 

"Just out for a little fisting and water sports," Howie replied. 

That got a round of "oh, gross" comments, and Howie looked at AJ and winked. 

"I'll go out with you," AJ said. "I haven't been fisted in awhile." 

"You guys," Brian protested weakly, and the elevator dinged. They'd reached their floor. 

AJ walked behind Howie, noticing how Howie walked with his shoulders back and his spine perfectly straight. It hadn't always been that way. It made AJ think of the first time he realized that he hated Lou Pearlman. Lou was like a father figure, he guessed, although he had no basis for comparison. But the first time a show bombed in Germany, AJ realized that he did not want this particular breed of fucked-up dad. 

Whenever a show bombed, there was someone to blame. Lou didn't yell at AJ because the second time it happened, AJ yelled back at him and called him a motherfucker. The rest of the guys watched in awe, like AJ was going to be on the next plane to the US. But AJ realized that Lou did not like to be called names, or thought of as uncool. Once he figured that out, AJ could put Lou in his place faster than Lou had ever been able to do to him. 

Lou didn't yell at Nick that night, because Nick's mom was visiting, and Lou never yelled at a kid in front of the kid's parents. He yelled at Kevin until Kevin started presenting logical, sound arguments, and Lou moved on to an easier target. That left Brian or Howie, and when given the choice between the two, Lou always picked Howie. Maybe it was because Brian had a golden voice, and Howie was more disposable. Or maybe it was because Howie came from a background where he was never yelled at, so when it started happening to him, he figured he'd done something wrong. 

So Lou had yelled at Howie. In front of everyone, even. Told him that he was screwing up his only chance in life. That people wouldn't pay good money to watch Howie screw up the dance steps. And everyone pretended to ignore the tears brimming in Howie's eyes, or the way he stared at the floor, chewing clumsily on the little gold cross he kept on a chain around his neck. 

AJ had decided that night that if he ever got the chance to punch Lou in the face, he would. And now, 10 years later, walking down yet another hotel hallway in yet another city, AJ sort of wished he'd had the chance. And it was funny, how those little spikes of memory came back at the strangest moments. AJ found it happening more all the time. 

***

AJ and Howie lay on their stomachs on Howie's bed, flipping through a Tiger Beat. They'd always bought and read them, because they were always in them. But lately, they were in them less and less. This time around there was a pin up of Nick and that was it. 

Howie tapped a photo of Lance Bass in a shiny red suit. "He is such a queen." 

"You think?" 

"Oh, yeah. Doesn't your gaydar go nuts when you see him?" 

AJ studied the photo, considering it. "I don't think I have gaydar." 

"Oh, come on. Everybody has gaydar." 

And it didn't take gaydar to notice Howie. He was in full gay mode that afternoon, filing his nails and rolling his eyes at everything and calling people "sweetheart." 

Howie lowered the top half of his body down the side of the bed and came back with an open can of Coke. "All he needs is JC's fashion sense and you'd have a full-on diva." 

AJ rested his chin on his hand, still studying the photo. "Do you think he's cute?" 

"No," Howie said, reaching over and flipping the page to an article on O-Town. 

"I hate these guys," AJ said. 

"Yeah. And there's not a pretty one among them. At least we were pretty. I mean, we _are_ pretty." 

AJ scratched the back of his neck, letting Howie turn the page again. "Oh God," Howie groaned. "More Justin Timberlake." 

AJ furrowed his brow at the photo. "Do you think he's good looking?" 

"Oh my God, yes." 

AJ watched Howie looking at the picture and shifted uncomfortably. "Remember the first girl you met in Germany? The one with the big dad? What was her name?" 

Howie snickered a little. "Gretchen." 

"You brought her on the bus and her dad showed up and wanted to kill you." 

"Yeah. And she didn't speak a word of English." 

"You were so into girls then. I mean, every interview you'd talk about girls." 

Howie shrugged and turned another page. "Yeah." 

"So...what happened?" 

"I don't know, AJ. Girls are still nice. I don't know the answer to that." 

"Okay." 

Howie flipped through the magazine faster, stopping at the fan mail addresses and tapping the Backstreet Boys one. "At least we're still listed in the fan directory." 

"Yeah. Right on." 

Howie skimmed through the rest of the pages, passing new teen pop girls and a couple of other boy trios and duos. He got to the back cover, another pin up of Justin Timberlake, and flipped the magazine over so it was laying flat, cover up, facing them. He took another swig of his Coke and set it by the bed, slumping down and resting his face on his arm. "I'm tired." 

"Yeah. Me too." AJ lowered himself so his position matched Howie's, watching Howie's eyes slowly close and open again. 

"I'm not ready, AJ." 

"For what?" 

Howie cleared his throat, but his voice still sounded a little hoarse, either from the long weeks of performing or from what was inside. "This. Stopping. I didn't see this coming, you know." 

"Me neither," AJ said, although he knew it was cheapening Howie's confession. Because AJ had hoped it wouldn't happen - didn't _think_ it would happen - but Howie didn't seem like the thought had ever crossed his mind. It was like a meteor flying from nowhere and landing in front of you. Like a four-car pile up that isn't there one second, and then suddenly you turn around and people are dead. He thought back to interviews where Howie was the first one to say that the Backstreet Boys weren't going anywhere. The first one to say that their goal was to be around another 10 years. "Here today, not gone tomorrow," he'd said. He was almost as adamant about that as he'd been about the girls. 

And if the weight on AJ's heart was so heavy that he could barely stand it, how was Howie going to survive it? Was it even physically or mentally possible? It had to be. If there was a God. Although AJ hadn't been sure of that for awhile. 

AJ reached out and ran a timid hand through Howie's hair, warming when he got a calm smile in return. An old fashioned Howie smile, the kind AJ had started to look for more and more. "I'm going to take care of you," AJ said. 

"My hero," Howie said lightly, still smiling. 

"I'm serious, D. We're gonna stick together through this. And even when we're not doing this anymore, we're gonna talk every day." 

"Okay." 

AJ watched Howie's eyes close slowly. AJ knew he wasn't sleeping. Just blocking everything out for a minute. 

"Do you think I'm cuter than Justin Timberlake?" AJ asked. 

Howie kept his eyes closed and smiled a little. "Definitely." 

"Really?" 

"Oh yeah. He doesn't even compare to you." 

"Yeah, right. You have to say that." 

Howie's smile stayed. "No, I don't." 

AJ stayed until Howie started to snooze and climbed off the bed. He didn't really want to go back to his own room, but he did anyway. 

***

It was on another long stretch of highway the next day that Brian dropped the bomb. 

"I'm doing a solo record," he said while everyone sat at the table. 

He must have seen the eyes widen and the expressions change, because he followed it up quickly with "Just a side project. A little thing. No big deal. Jive approached me about it and I thought it might be fun. But it's totally a side thing. From this, I mean." 

AJ blinked. "Come again?" 

"I can sneak away here and there on the tour," Brian said. "I've already got some songs lined up. Mostly gospel. Boys II Men-ish." 

Nick's eyes flashed at Kevin. "Did you fucking know about this?" 

Kevin's hands unfolded and he held them out, and AJ could tell from the look on Kevin's face that Kevin had not known about this. 

"Don't be mad," Brian pleaded. 

Nick's head snapped around and he directed his glare at Brian. "Don't be mad? Don't be fucking mad? That you've probably been planning this for months and you didn't tell us?" Nick shoved Howie hard, because Howie was sitting between him and the aisle. Howie tipped to the side and Nick pushed past him, stomping toward the hallway. He grabbed a coffee mug off the nearest counter and whipped it at the wall. There was a large shatter, then a rainstorm of white glass. 

Brian looked at Kevin, then at AJ. AJ stared down at the table, watching Howie's hands as they slid across the table to grab a magazine. 

"Howie?" Brian said hopefully. 

Howie gave an exaggerated sigh and flipped open the magazine. "I sure will miss watching you get undressed." 

The tone was lilting, but the look in Howie's eyes, focusing on the magazine, was the same as it used to be when Lou Pearlman yelled at him. And AJ knew he'd found the missing piece to the puzzle. 

***

"Let's hang after the show," AJ said as they walked down the hall to the stage. The cheers from the crowd wafted down the stale hallway, hitting AJ like a warm breeze. 

Howie shrugged. "Okay." 

"I mean, unless you want to go out and...you know...whatever." 

"No, it's cool. Let's do something." 

They stopped at the stage door, people milling around them checking their costumes and equipment. Some assembly required, AJ thought. And then one by one, they went onto the stage. 

Being on stage was two hours when the record sales and Brian's solo album and Howie being drag queen-ish and not being in Teen Beat didn't seem to matter. AJ could still look in the crowd and pick out the crying girl, the one who could barely stand being in the same building as him. And even if there was only one of them, he could sing to her. It was the only break from feeling toxic-giddy and hangover-sick. The only thing that had ever mattered. 

They showered slowly after the show, like they didn't really have anywhere else to go. AJ pressed his face under the warm spray and inhaled the atmosphere. The sounds of Howie and the rest of them doing the same thing a few stalls away. Trying to let the adrenaline drain off his body, although it took forever to go away. Trying to pretend that this feeling of being beautiful and alive and famous would last forever, even if he could practically cross off the days on a calendar. 

When they all emerged, hair damp but bodies dry and dressed again, Howie headed over to AJ. "Want to go out somewhere?" 

"Nah. Let's hang out in my room." 

Again, Howie shrugged. "Okay." Like AJ had suggested they get a coffee. 

Howie followed AJ back to the room obediently. AJ couldn't help but smile to himself as he slid in the key card and opened the door. 

Howie followed him in and sat on the bed while AJ made a drink. AJ held up the mini bottle. "Want one?" 

"Sure." 

AJ poured two liberal shots, adding a couple of chunky ice cubes, and handed a glass to Howie. "Did you know these hotel rooms come with VCR's?" 

Howie took a sip of his drink. "Nope." 

"They do. And guess what I found?" AJ crossed the room and picked up an unlabeled black tape. "Remember when we were going to make that video in Europe?" 

"Oh, yeah," Howie said into his glass. "All the outtakes. You have that?" 

"You bet I do, baby." AJ popped it in and fired up the TV, walking backward and sitting on the bed cross legged next to Howie. 

The first one on screen was Nick, rolling around in bed, his eyes still closed and a hand extended toward the camera. AJ held his breath until Howie started to laugh, and then AJ laughed, too. A good drunken night was in order. A good drunken night of being their old selves, keeping everything exactly the same as it had always been, and fast forwarding through the parts with Lou Pearlman. It was enough to hold them over for another two days. 

***

AJ stepped sleepily into the hallway, eyes feeling like they were plastered shut, hangover ache dripping through his brain, when he heard Howie's door open and a guy who was not Howie walked out. 

The guy slung his jacket over his shoulder, nodding at AJ as he walked by. "Hey." 

"Hey," AJ replied, staring as the guy walked down the hall. Then he realized that it wasn't the first time he'd seen him. He'd been around a few times, in a couple of different cities. AJ had never really bothered to place who he was or why he was there. 

AJ knocked on Howie's door, already hearing Howie's morning sounds on the other side - water running, drawers closing, the occasional cough. 

Howie answered, hair wet and eyes bright. "Hey. Come on in." 

AJ walked in and closed the door. Howie went back to his suitcase, picking up another shirt and folding it with the same exactness and precision that he always folded his clothes. 

"Who was that guy?" AJ asked. 

Howie smiled into his suitcase, his body looking like it was going to bubble over. Finally he spun around and grinned. "You want to know the dirt?" 

AJ remained motionless. Almost catatonic. "Yeah." 

"His name is Paul. He models, so he travels all over the place, so we've been in the same city a few times. Now he's starting to, like, plan his jobs so we're in the same city. And...." Howie shrugged, but it was a pathetic attempt at looking nonchalant, because he was back to smiling into his suitcase again. 

AJ searched for the right words, but he couldn't even pick an accurate emotion. Pain? Anger? Paranoia? None of them seemed to fit. 

"What are you doing?" AJ asked. 

"What do you mean, what am I doing?" Howie took his toothbrush and slid it into its neat little plastic travel case, sliding his toothpaste in beside it. AJ wanted to shake him. To smack whatever this was out of him. To try to get him to be strong. 

"You can't have a boyfriend," AJ said. 

Howie rolled his eyes. "Oh, okay. Sorry, Kevin." 

"Well, I mean...what's with you lately?" 

Howie slid the toothbrush kit into the lid pocket of his suitcase and reached for his razors. "I've just realized that I am going to last a lot longer than this group, that's all. Besides, I'm not the only one who's experimented a little. I seem to recall a certain someone letting a certain dancer give him a blow job." Howie winked at him quickly, zipping up the little Ziploc bag that held his razors and shaving cream. 

AJ felt anger flare somewhere in his chest. Howie could pull the flaming gay boy shit on the other guys, but AJ thought he deserved a little more than that. Besides, AJ was trying to look out of him here. The least Howie could do was give him a little honesty. 

"He's after your money," AJ said. 

Howie dropped the plastic bag in his suitcase and snapped his head around. "What?" 

"He is. That's always what guys like that want." 

Howie's eyes narrowed and flashed. "You've said exactly one word to him in your entire life." 

"Yeah, but I know the type." 

Howie pushed his suitcase closed, his jaw clenched, and as he yanked at the zipper angrily he said something so out of character that AJ couldn't believe he heard it. 

"Fuck you, AJ." 

AJ blinked. "What?" 

"You heard me." Howie yanked the suitcase off the chair and let it land heavily next to him. "Why can't he just like me? How about that? You have dated tons of girls who were five years younger than you and wanted a singing career, and I never once told you that they were anything but wonderful. And now the first time I find someone I really like, it has to be about that." 

AJ crossed his arms, trying to keep his composure. "I'm just looking out for you, man. And sometimes the truth hurts." 

Howie rolled his eyes and pushed past him to the door. "You wouldn't know the truth if it bit you in the ass." 

"Fuck you, Howie." 

"You wish," Howie snapped. 

The door closed behind him and AJ found himself alone in Howie's room. Except it wasn't Howie's room anymore. Now it was just an empty hotel room. One of their six-hour homes that they constantly moved in and out of, never getting too comfortable but always easing into their surroundings. And for whatever reason, it made AJ sad to look around. To see nothing but a carefully made bed, and the remote control set back on the TV and the room service menus back in their proper places. Just an empty room. 

He walked out, eyes fixed on the carpet, and looked up to find Howie leaning against the wall. 

"I'm sorry," Howie said. 

"No. I shouldn't have said that stuff. It was my fault." 

"Yeah, but I shouldn't have said 'fuck you.' And that stuff about the girls." 

"Forget it." AJ leaned in at the same time as Howie and they hugged, chests pressed together, hands rubbing backs. One of their old-fashioned hugs. 

Nick fumbled out of his room, suitcase in tow. "Break it up," he mumbled, trudging to the elevators. And they couldn't help but laugh. 

"Don't worry about it," Kevin said later on the bus, across the table from AJ while everyone else slept. "He's just got this brand new spine that he doesn't know what to do with." 

"Yeah," AJ said, still trying to think of something that would get Kevin on his side. "But aren't you worried that he could get...diseases?" 

"Not if he's sleeping with one person," Kevin said. "Besides, I worry about that more with you." 

AJ rolled his eyes. "Very funny." 

Kevin sighed and went back to reading his paper. "I'm not kidding," he said, and that was the end of the conversation. 

*** 

The more the tour wound down, and the closer it got to the end, the more AJ went out by himself. He thought everyone would be wanting to make the most of their final month, but everyone got more reflective. Nick wasn't bitchy anymore. In fact, he wasn't really talking. Instead of hanging out by himself, Brian hung out in Kevin's room, where the two talked in hushed tones until they were too tired to stay awake. And Howie had gotten three more visits from Paul, and even though he was acting _less_ gay with Paul in the picture, it still made things feel weird. 

AJ found himself in a club in Dallas, the same place where Nikki had broken up with him, stumbling through the dance floor with a throbbing headache. Girls were on either side of him, pawing at him with sweaty hands, and the music became a heavily remade techno version of an Everything But the Girl song. 

"Wherever you go I'll follow you, if that is wrong...." 

And he sat down in the nearest chair and cried. Cried so hard that his ribs would have hurt if he wasn't drunk. Cried without shame or reason, just burying his face in his arms, letting out frustration and pain whose source seemed no deeper than the stupid lines in the song. 

He cried until one of the girls took him home, helping him to her car behind the club. She dropped him off at the hotel without so much as a suggestive wink. And AJ wanted one. He wanted some indication that she would have been all over him if he would only let her. But there was none. 

By the time he was in the elevator, checking his reflection on the mirrored wall, he figured he had his shit together. He wiped his eyes with the coarse material of his new jacket. Pushed his sunglasses into place so he would look normal again. Tried to walk the carpeted hall with assurance and logic. One foot in front of the other. Methodical, like a machine. 

He got to his door and slumped against it, searching lazily through his pockets for his key card. He thought he found it, but it was only his gold card. Then his driver's license. 

He was trying the other pocket when Howie's door opened across the hall. "AJ." 

"Yeah." AJ leaned his forehead against the door because it seemed easier that way, fingers still sifting through gum wrappers and stray pieces of paper in his pocket. 

Howie didn't say anything else, but AJ could feel eyes on him. He turned a little to find Howie leaning against the door frame, lean body clad in pajama bottoms, hair pulled into a neat ponytail. Howie's eyes were wide and calm. Old fashioned eyes. 

"M'okay," AJ mumbled, turning back to his door again, pulling out a card to find that it was his Visa. 

"Want me to look for it?" Howie asked. 

"No." AJ shook his head emphatically. "You have your own shit going on in there. Don't worry about me." 

"No, he's gone. For good, I think." 

AJ turned to find Howie leaning his head against the door frame, kicking the carpet listlessly with his bare toes. 

"I'm sorry," AJ said, and without warning felt tears brimming. He ran his fingers under his sunglasses, trying not to be obvious, and kept fumbling through his pockets. 

"AJ, come here." 

AJ turned slowly and took a couple of heavy steps to Howie's door. Then he felt Howie's arms around him, hugging him tightly, AJ's chin resting on Howie's shoulder. The warmth made the tears start again. 

Howie backed them into the room and used a couple of fingers to push the door shut, still holding AJ tightly. The room was lit by the faint glow of the lamp on the night table. Otherwise, it looked like Howie had been sleeping. 

"You're gonna be okay," Howie whispered, running his hand across the back of AJ's head. "Everything is gonna work out for you." 

AJ gulped and took a couple of sharp breaths. "I love you, Howie." 

"I know. I love you too, buddy." 

AJ swallowed hard. "No. I mean, I think I really love you." 

Howie laughed a little, and his body shook against AJ's. "You're drunk." 

"I know. But I do, though." 

Howie sighed deeply and stepped back, touching the lapel of AJ's jacket. "Take these off. We'll get you in bed." 

"I'm fine," AJ mumbled, shaking off his jacket and letting it fall on the floor. He kicked off his shoes clumsily, stripping down to his boxers before he landed in bed. 

Howie crawled in next to him, pulling up the blankets so AJ could slide under them. "Slumber party," he said with a little smile. 

"Remember those days when we had to share rooms? When the odd guy out got the room to himself?" AJ asked. 

"Yeah." 

"I liked rooming with you. You were my favorite. But you always roomed with Kevin. And I was always the odd guy out." 

Howie tucked the blankets around AJ and flopped down next to him. "That's you, AJ. Odd as a cod." 

"I mean it, though," AJ said, squirming to get comfortable. "I bet you hated rooming with me." 

"Nah." Howie snuggled into the pillow. "I liked rooming with you. I always have." 

"We have to keep in touch, Howie. I mean it. Every day." 

"Of course." Howie reached back to the table and AJ heard the snap of the lamp shutting off. The light in the room seemed to evaporate, and they were in darkness. 

AJ listened to Howie's quiet, steady breathing and knew Howie was going back to sleep. He reached over and rested his hand on Howie's side, letting his palm drift along the smooth skin there. Howie's breathing didn't hitch. Just stayed calm and rhythmic, like AJ hadn't done anything at all. 

AJ let his hand drift across Howie's hip, then his fingers drift across Howie's stomach. He got as far as the waistband of Howie's pants before he felt strong fingers around his wrist. 

"AJ." 

"But I..." 

Howie took AJ's hand and rested it on the bed between them, patting it before he rested his own on the pillow again. 

"Sorry," AJ said. And he found himself falling asleep too quickly to even try again. 

***

Another night out alone. Another night searching blindly through his pockets for his key card. 

"So this is it," their manager had said that afternoon. A group meeting to decide for sure that this would be their last tour. It was like picking out a coffin. Pine or oak? Satin or velvet interior? Which was more suitable for a dead boy band? 

AJ imagined a cemetery plot between New Kids and Take That. A resting place for robots whose batteries had run low. For trading cards not worth anything anymore. And suddenly, the very thought of performing those last five shows became unbearable. 

He wasn't even drunk, but he still couldn't find his key card. He was drunk on sobriety, maybe. Drunk on the responsibility of wrapping up a multi-million-dollar organization, and sobered by the fact that in two months it would be a memory. Like working and working to end it all. Like digging his own grave. 

Finally he just turned and knocked on Howie's door, knowing Howie would be alone, probably sleeping as soundly as any of them could sleep. Howie opened it almost immediately and smiled. "Hi." 

"You okay, D?" 

Howie nodded. "Yeah. You?" 

"Yeah." 

Howie opened the door wider and AJ walked in. "Would I be a giant pain in the ass if I asked to sleep in here?" 

"No. I'd like that, actually." 

AJ stripped down to his boxers and climbed in bed, realizing that he'd worn boxers just in case he came in here that night. And this time, instead of lying down and falling asleep instantly, Howie wrapped his arms around AJ and hugged him. AJ rolled onto his back so Howie's head rested on his chest and wrapped his left arm tightly around Howie's shoulders. 

"Are you scared?" Howie asked against AJ's chest. 

"Yeah." 

"Me too. And, like, literally scared. Last night I started thinking there was a ghost in my room. It was weird." 

AJ let his fingers drift through Howie's hair, wanting to hold him so tightly that their bodies melted together. Like he couldn't get enough of the safety of being close to someone. "Maybe there is." 

"Maybe." 

AJ let his fingers trail across Howie's shoulder, feeling a lump rise in his throat. "What would you say if you could meet yourself? Like, 10 years ago? What would you tell yourself?" 

Howie was quiet for a moment, and there was no sound at all. No traffic outside. No ticking clock. No whir of an air conditioner. AJ couldn't remember the last time he was in absolute silence. He wondered if he'd ever been. 

"To enjoy every minute of it," Howie said. "To not worry about the little things. To just live it like it's going to end tomorrow." 

AJ swallowed, but it was too late. Tears came and spilled over, running in wet trails down his temples and landing in his hair. 

Howie wasn't even looking at him, but he sat up immediately, running his fingers across AJ's cheeks, making a soft, soothing sound AJ couldn't decipher. 

"You don't cry enough," Howie said. "It's good to cry. Everything'll be okay." 

"Howie, I just want...I need to be close to somebody right now. I need to put my arms around somebody, you know? And I didn't want some girl. I just want...I need you to...." 

"Okay," Howie replied, and then his lips were brushing across AJ's cheek, his body moving closer until it was on top of AJ's and his head rested on AJ's chest. AJ felt Howie squeeze his hand, and then they were kissing. It wasn't chaste, but it wasn't entirely lust driven, either. It was a kiss born of need more than desire; of slow-rolling fear and gut-wrenching loneliness mixed with the comfort of a kindred spirit. 

Howie made all the moves. AJ just lay back, first kissing and then petting and then groaning ever so slightly when Howie slid into him, kissing him so deeply AJ thought he might drown in those lips. Howie's hand ran across his forehead, and his fingers tangled in his hair a little when he came. And that was it. It was a far too fleeting moment, kind of like everything in their lives, and they fell into a deep, sated sleep. 

*** 

They ended with "We've Got It Going On," because there was kind of a neat irony to it. "It's got our name in it," AJ remembered Brian saying in one of their first interviews. And at the time, that had been a huge deal, to sing a song with their name in it. The group knew it was their last concert, but the crowd didn't, and AJ focused on trying to suck up all the love in case he never got it again. He tried to savor the roar before the encore, and the girl crying in the front row, in case he wanted to dream about it later. 

He found Howie after the concert sitting on one of the barricades, looking out at the emptying auditorium. The people in the seats were gone, and the only loud noises were the heavy sounds of wires snapping and planks dropping as the crew packed up their equipment. 

AJ pulled himself up next to Howie and sat down, kicking his legs a little against the side of the barricade. Howie didn't saying anything. He didn't even glance at him. AJ understood and reached in his pocket for his cigarettes, the only sound between them the snap of AJ's lighter igniting. 

And that was it, AJ decided. The end of a 10-year production line. But it was 10 years without a recall. Ten years of beautiful women and pay cheques that still made them gasp when they saw them. Ten years of being able to shop at Armani, and buy all the shoes they wanted, and decorate their homes with antique furniture. Ten years of girls crying in the front row, and awards shows, and not quite unconditional love. 

"God, AJ," Howie said quietly, still focusing on the auditorium. "It's been quite a ride, hasn't it?" 

AJ nodded and swallowed hard. "Yes, sir." 

Howie gave him an old fashioned Howie smile. One of the calm, collected ones that really had no substitute. "Thank you for being on my ride." 

"We'll keep in touch," AJ said. "Every day." 

"Every day," Howie repeated. 

Even as they climbed off the barrier to join the other guys, AJ knew it wasn't true. But it was a beautiful lie. 

  



End file.
